Chapter Text
Joong
I woke up to silence again.
Not the peaceful kind. The kind that settles in the corners of the room like dust, reminding you nobody else lives here. No footsteps in the hallway, no voice asking if I wanted coffee, no heartbeat other than my own.
I stared at the ceiling for a while and listened to the ticking clock on the nightstand.
“Maybe today,” I muttered to myself. “She said she’d call if something came up.”
It had been weeks since I’d last heard from the matchmaker. Months since I’d walked into her tiny office the first time, feeling stupidly hopeful, like a teenager. An omega. A home. A family. It had sounded childish even in my own head, but I’d said it anyway.
I don’t have high expectations, I’d told her. Someone kind would be enough. Someone who’ll give me a chance. I can’t afford a big dowry, but… maybe you could find someone where the family doesn’t ask too much.
She’d grunted then, eyes sharp and unimpressed.
“You want a miracle on a middle-class budget, kid.”
I wasn’t a kid. But I hadn’t argued.
Now, I sighed and sat up. Saturday. No work to distract me. No plans. Just me and this quiet house that was starting to feel too big for one person.
The kettle whistled half-heartedly in the kitchen. I made coffee, sat at the table, scrolled through my messages. A few from colleagues. Nothing from friends, most of them had partners, kids, loud homes. I was happy for them. Genuinely. Just… a little sore around the edges.
I set the phone down and wrapped both hands around the mug, letting the heat ground me.
Most alphas don’t even bother anymore, I thought. Why chase something you can’t afford?
Omegas were rare. That was just the reality. Most families could name exactly where every omega in their lineage had gone: he was married into that alpha clan, she went abroad, he was bought by some old family in the capital. The price tags were talked about in hushed tones. Numbers that made my head spin.
If you were rich enough, you went to the big agencies and ordered a future spouse like a custom suit. If you weren’t, you registered with matchmakers like Madam Ruan and hoped there was a family somewhere desperate enough, or kind enough, to lower their price.
And if you were an omega no one wanted… you didn’t stay in a family home for long.
I tried not to think about that part. The public houses. The “entertainment” contracts. The way some people said undesirable like it was an official category on a form.
I got up and started cleaning even though the place was already tidy. Wiping down counters, rearranging books, folding the same blanket I’d folded yesterday. Maybe if the house looked more like it was ready for someone, the universe would listen.
The phone rang.
My heart jumped so hard I almost dropped the mug.
I lunged for the table, nearly tripping over the chair. Madam Ruan’s name glowed on the screen. I stared at it a second, my thumb hovering.
“Okay,” I whispered to myself. “Don’t sound desperate.”
I picked up. “Hello?”
“Still alive, are you?” Her voice was as dry as ever, smoke-roughened and unimpressed.
I exhaled a laugh. “Good morning to you too, Madam Ruan.”
“I’ve been staring at your file for weeks,” she grumbled. “Thought you might have given up.”
“Not yet,” I said. “Should I?”
She snorted. “Depends how picky you are.”
A familiar twist settled low in my chest.
“You know I’m not picky. I told you. Just someone kind. I don’t need handsome, I don’t need fancy. I just… want someone I can take care of. Someone to come home to.”
The kitchen felt smaller suddenly. I braced my free hand on the counter.
On the other end, she went quiet for a moment, then sighed. “You and your soft heart, kid.”
“Again, I’m thirty,” I muttered.
“Still a kid to me,” she shot back. “Listen. I might have something.”
Everything in me went still. “An omega?”
“Yes, what else do you think I do, sell furniture?” she snapped. There was a rustle of papers. “Male omega. Older. Name’s Dunk.”
“Older?” My mind flicked to grey hair and a cane and me pushing a wheelchair through a park. Not that I’d mind, if he was kind. But still. “How old is ‘older’?”
“Older than you. Not old,” she said. “I haven’t pried the exact age out of the woman yet. She was in a hurry.”
“In a hurry?”
Another sigh. “That’s the part I don’t like.”
I leaned my hip against the counter. “Tell me.”
“He’s… not bad,” she admitted, like it hurt to say something positive. “From what little I saw, he’s actually nice-looking. Smart, polite. The kind who listens more than he speaks. Not loud, not rude. Didn’t flinch when I talked about money, which, frankly, worries me more than anything.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because it means he knows the situation,” she said. “Omegas from secure families don’t look at you like that when dowries come up. They look offended.”
My fingers tightened around the phone. “What did his family say?”
“That’s the other thing.” Paper shuffled again. “I met with the woman who runs his household. Aunt, distant cousin, I don’t know, she wouldn’t specify. She wanted to get rid of him fast. Said they ‘no longer had space’ for him. You know what that usually means.”
My stomach dropped. “They’re running out of money.”
“Maybe,” she said. “They’re balancing between selling him to a decent home and… other options. She asked about connections to ‘houses’ more than once. I pretended I didn’t hear.”
I shut my eyes. An image flickered: a boy with kind eyes under dim bar lighting, smiling because it was in the contract.
“His dowry price?” I asked quietly.
“That’s the strange part,” she said. “It’s…”
I could hear her calculating even through the line.
“It’s about what you can afford.”
I straightened. “You’re serious?”
“Dead,” she said. “It’s not pocket change, but it’s doable for you if you empty that savings account you pretend you don’t have.”
“So why hasn’t he already been taken?” I couldn’t help it. Omegas that matched my range usually vanished before I could even fill out a form. “If he’s decent-looking, kind, and the price is reasonable…”
“Exactly,” she said. “I don’t trust coincidences.”
“What do you think is wrong?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe he’s already pregnant. That would explain the rush and the discount.”
I thought about that. A pregnant omega, sent away before the scandal could set in. Someone else’s child in his belly. A family shame, rebranded as a business opportunity.
Surprisingly, my chest didn’t tighten at the thought. It eased.
“I don’t mind,” I said.
She paused. “You don’t?”
“I told you,” I said quietly. “I want a family. If he comes with one already on the way… I don’t mind. I’d take care of them. Both of them.”
There was a long pause on the line. When she spoke again, her tone had softened, just a fraction.
“You’re a fool,” she muttered. “A good kind, but still a fool.”
“I’ll take ‘good,’” I said.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she snapped, as if catching herself. “And pregnancy is just my guess. There could be something else. Bad health, debts, temperament. The woman gave me bad vibes.”
“How bad?” I asked.
“The kind of smile that doesn’t reach the eyes,” she said. “The kind that looks at an omega and sees a ledger. She talked about him like a piece of furniture they’d outgrown. ‘He’s quiet, he won’t cause trouble, we just don’t need him anymore.’”
Heat crawled up my neck. “Don’t need him?”
“Yeah.” Another sigh. “Look. I don’t like the situation. But I like the alternative even less. If she doesn’t offload him to someone like you in the next few days, she’s going to sell him where no one will ask questions about his background.”
The house suddenly felt cold.
“How long do I have?” I asked.
“Two, maybe three days,” she said. “Officially, the offer stands for a week. Unofficially, I saw the way she was checking her messages. If someone comes with cash sooner, she’s not waiting for you.”
I didn’t have to think long. My savings flashed through my mind; numbers I’d built carefully over the years for a “future” I never quite dared define. A bigger house. A car. Maybe a proper wedding, if I ever found someone.
“What do I have to do?” I asked.
“You go there,” she said. “Tomorrow. Best with the money ready, or at least proof you can get it quickly. You see him. You talk to him. If you both agree, you hand over the dowry and bring him home before that woman changes her mind.”
My heart pounded so hard I could hear it through the phone.
“Tomorrow,” I repeated. “I can do tomorrow.”
“I figured as much.” I could practically hear her rolling her eyes. “I’ll send you the address. I’ll tell the household head you’ll be there at four in the afternoon.”
“Four is good,” I said, glancing at the clock like the time could help me breathe. “Tell her I’ll be there. Tell her I’m serious.”
“I know,” she said quietly. “That’s the problem. You’re always serious.”
I huffed a laugh. “Is that a complaint?”
“It’s why I kept your file on my desk,” she said. “Most alphas want a trophy. You want… soup and bedtime stories.”
I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “Is that so bad?”
“It’s rare,” she said. “Rarer than omegas, sometimes.”
She read the address out slowly. I scribbled it on the back of an old bill, underlining the street name until the paper nearly tore.
“So,” she said when we were done. “Dunk. You meet him. You remember you can still say no if something feels wrong. Being lonely is bad, but being trapped in a bad bond is worse, you hear me?”
“I hear you,” I said. “But I… I want to at least see him. If there’s a chance he’s nice…”
“Yeah, yeah.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll call the witch and tell her you’re coming. Four o’clock.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Really.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” she grumbled. “Save it for when you’re sending me pictures of little brats running around your garden.”
The call ended with her usual abruptness.
I stared at the dark screen for a moment, then set the phone down carefully, like it might shatter this fragile streak of luck.
Dunk.
An older omega. Smart. Polite. Maybe pregnant. Maybe not. Maybe broken in ways I couldn’t see yet. Maybe just unlucky, caught in the wrong household with the wrong woman counting the wrong kind of numbers.
I walked through the house, seeing it suddenly through new eyes. The spare room I kept neat “just in case.” The second mug in the cabinet that never got used. The extra blanket on the couch.
I stopped in the doorway of the spare room and leaned on the frame.
“Okay,” I told the empty space. “Tomorrow, four o’clock.”
My mind raced ahead: what to wear, how to sit, how not to sound desperate when I talked to him. Don’t make too many jokes. Don’t stare. Don’t oversell yourself. Just… be honest.
I caught my reflection in the hallway mirror—hair a bit messy, eyes a little tired, mouth tilted in a hopeful, anxious line.
“You’ll have to show your best side,” I told the man in the mirror. “If he’s really it… you’ll need him to see you’re worth choosing too.”
I straightened my shoulders, smoothing my shirt as if Dunk were already standing in the doorway, deciding whether this house, this life, this lonely alpha, was worth stepping into.